


the fade, and conversations therein

by ferbiedragon



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-10-02 00:24:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20447051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferbiedragon/pseuds/ferbiedragon
Summary: Maker,she thinks, lying on her back beneath a jagged outcropping of rock, peering up at the smokey green sky. She’s grateful to see at all, but she wishes the view was better.Varric is going to kill me if I get out of here. However likely that is. Which isn’t very.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Got one'a them '500 Prompts' books and wrote this little thing a while ago. I kind of love it!!
> 
> In my canon, Marian and Garrett are twins, and Marian is blind... outside of the Fade, of course. Also, she's dating Varric, and has a lot of issues surrounding failure. Don't we all...

Perhaps it is a dream, she thinks. Perhaps, if she pinches herself, she will wake up. But she doesn’t want to wake up. She wants to stay in this dream, where everyone is alive.

Father, and Bethany and Mother, and Carver- not a Warden, not doomed to die under the sword of a darkspawn, but well and whole like he ought to be, like he would be if she weren’t such a colossal screw-up. The four of them follow her where she walks, talk to her, help when she stumbles.

They aren’t real, of course. Just spirits, playing things out from the wisps of her memories, and it’s like the dreams she has in the real world when she sleeps, in that they’re here, and she can see- and it’s a dream, and a nice one.

Well- that’s false. It isn’t a dream, not really, but it is the Fade, and it counts. And perhaps, a few thousand steps ago, before the spiders and the demons and the biting, before the Nightmare fell, but not all the way, perhaps then she might have liked to leave. As it stands now, though, Marian Hawke has come to accept that this isn’t the worst place to end it all. Sort of. 

_Garrett isn’t here. Lazy ponce,_ Marian thinks. _He’s probably too busy sailing with Isabela. And Anders, and Fenris. An entourage of ever-glowing scowls to keep him company. Which is good. He deserves it. _

And maybe he isn’t here because she doesn’t need him to be. 

The Fade. The Raw Fade. The _real_ Fade. Marian is here, body and mind and spirit. Which… well, honestly, it sort of sucks, has sucked from the moment she volunteered to stay behind and fight an enormous, pus-spewing spider. Unfortunately, there’s not much for it now, and wasn’t really much for it then, since it had been either her or Alistair, and she’s not sure Thedas could handle the loss of a sweet puppy face like that. 

She’s glad Varric was already gone before she spoke up. He’d have dragged her out despite any protests.

_Maker,_ she thinks, lying on her back beneath a jagged outcropping of rock, peering up at the smokey green sky. She’s grateful to see at all, but she wishes the view was better. _Varric is going to kill me if I get out of here. However likely that is. Which isn’t very._

Well, that wasn’t fair, precisely. He wouldn’t kill her. He’d just… be disappointed. Ugh. “I think I’d prefer if he just shot me.” she says aloud.

“No you wouldn’t.” says Bethany, sitting beside her. Her tone is teasing, her eyes bright. She really is a very accurate rendition of the sister Hawke remembers. “You’d prefer if he hugged you. And kissed you. And-”

“Ugh, Beth, please.” Hawke groans, lifts an aching arm to wave it in the air. “Mother and father are right there.”

“We don’t mind, dear.” Leandra says, and smoothes a hand down the crown of Marian’s head. Suddenly it’s pillowed in her mother’s lap, and she’s reminded of being a child again._ Huh. When did that happen. _“Master Tethras is a good match. Perhaps not who I’d have chosen…”

“You always were set on the Seneschal’s son.” Marian sniffs disdainfully. “I wish I could say I was sorry about his pants.”

“The little ponce deserved it, if you ask me.” Malcolm says, rubbing his nose, like he always does- did- when he was thinking unpleasant thoughts. “Not that this Varric is much better. He’s been a terrible influence on you, lambkin.”

“I mean, that’s true.” she can’t actually argue with that at all. “But, to be entirely fair, I’ve also been a terrible influence on him. Give and take, that’s the sort of relationship we’ve got…” she shifts, and winces when it pulls her side where the spider’s fangs had sunk deep. The bandages are sloppily done; she’s not a healer, never has been. “...I concede that this latest incident makes it more _take_ on my end, though.”

“I’m sure he isn’t keeping track.” Mother soothes. Marian barks a laugh, and then winces, because her ribs hurt, and her throat is so dry. 

“Ow… Mum, come on. You’ve met Varric.” she smiles. “He is _absolutely_ keeping track. He’s petty that way.”

“You both are.” Carver calls from where he’s standing guard nearby, arms crossed over his chest, eyes focused on the distant places she’d have to actually lift her head to see. He’s always been good about that, watching her back. Before she condemned him to an early grave with the Wardens, anyway. He doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge now, which is a nice change. She has to hand it to whatever spirit it is playing him. Even if it is a little out of character.

Or maybe not so much, anymore. He’s grown, matured, even with the Taint hanging over his head. Merrill says he writes her letters, too. Nice of him to finally get with the program.

“I never said I wasn’t.” Hawke sighs. “I mean, this,” she waves her arm again, to gesture all around, “is kind of the most absolute proof of that.”

“How?” Beth asks, brow furrowed.

“Well, I stayed behind because I’m petty, didn’t I? Couldn’t let Corypheus have the last laugh.” she shrugs, scowls. “Should’ve stayed dead the first time, the blighter. Typical magister. So rude.”

“It was rude of him.” Bethany agrees. “He didn’t even bring you a gift when he came back. Poor Mari.”

“Maybe he thought of the dragon as a gift.” Carver offers. “Mari loves dragons.”

“I do love dragons.” Hawke ponders this. “..maybe not half-dead, Blighted ones, though. Varric described it to me. Hardly the sort of dragon I enjoy. Bad gift. Hope he kept the receipt of sale.” Bethany laughs faintly, and she swears she hears a snort from Carver’s direction, which is nice. She’s missed making them laugh. 

Malcolm sighs, a somber sound that ruins the brief moment of levity, and she feels him sit down beside Leandra, close to her head. “Maker, Mari, I’m so sorry. This, all of this, is my fault.”

“I don’t really see how that’s true, da.” Marian rolls her eyes. “As I recall, you put a good deal of effort into keeping the Blighty bastard locked up.”

“Language, dear.” Leandra warns. 

“Sorry, mum.” she closes her eyes, just for a moment, opens them. Her side is bleeding again, she thinks. She wonders if the bandages will hold. “It’s the spider poison, I think. Makes my tongue a little loose.”

“Spiders have venom, not poison.” Bethany tells her, ever helpful.

“That’s true. Thank you, Beth. It’s the spider venom.”

“Oh, lambkin.” Malcolm frowns at her- she can almost feel it- and then looks away. “I thought I was keeping you, all of you, safe. So many secrets… maybe if I’d told you, prepared you-”

“No, da, you’re right. That sounds like a recipe for a happy childhood. ‘Alright, children, let’s get ready to train for the undead darkspawn magister you’ll one day have to face, and unleash upon the world.’” She shakes her head. “I’m not sorry it didn’t turn out that way, da. I’d never have taken it seriously.”

“Yes, but maybe you wouldn’t be here, now.” Malcolm answers.

“You know what, you’re right. You should have turned me into a miniature magister assassin when you had the chance.” Marian grins. “I’d probably come out as a blithering madwoman and run naked into the Chantry, slaughtering everyone until someone had to put me down, eventually. Once the pressure built enough. Think of the stories Varric could tell.”

“Ugh. Don’t make me think about you naked.” Carver groans.

“Oh, shut up.” she shoots back. “Think about Merrill naked, instead. That should cheer you right up.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too, Junior.” Varric’s nickname for her younger brother falls easily off her tongue, and it makes her smile, for a moment, before it makes her very sad. Tears well in her eyes, and she can’t even summon the energy to lift her hand again and wipe them away. “Maker’s balls. I make a mess out of everything, don’t I?”

“Oh, don’t say that.” Bethany soothes, and lifts a hand to wipe away the tears herself. “You’ve always done the best you can.”

“Yes, well, we see how that’s turned out.” she chokes on a sob, a laugh with no humor. “Just peachy, really. I lose my sight in the real world because I can’t control my magic, and almost get Garrett killed in the process-”

“You were only a child. Don’t blame yourself for that.” Malcolm murmurs. “That was never your fault.”

“-and then, father, you die helping us escape Ferelden, because I can’t get us out fast enough, just _had_ to try and help the villagers stave off the horde, and then an ogre kills _you_, Beth, because I can’t stop it-”

“That wasn’t your fault either.” Leandra tells her. 

“You said it was.” Marian smiles weakly. Why weakly? When did that happen? “Right after.”

“I never should have. It wasn’t true.” Leandra sighs, and does look remorseful.

“Of course you’d say that. That’s what I always wanted you to say, and you’re just a figment of my imagination.” she sighs. 

“She’s got you there, darling.” Malcolm teases.

“Hush, Malcolm.” Leandra glares at him. “We’re as real as anything else here.”

“Except maybe Mari.” Bethany says.

“Anyway.” Marian continues, undeterred, “Then I drag Carver into the Deep Roads with me, and he gets all Tainty, and so he’s as good as dead.”

“There’s still life in me.” Carver sounds irritated.

“I said ‘as good as’, pay attention, Carver. And then- and _then_, mother is all I’ve got left-”

“What about Garrett?”

“He doesn’t count for the intended diatribe, Beth.”

“Gamlen, then?”

“I’m offended you’d suggest Gamlen. Stop interrupting. So a madman I _should_ have stopped _years_ before takes mother, and kills her, and… and _tortures her_, because I’m not fast enough, and on top of _all of that,_” Hawke sucks in a breath. Breathing is hard. “When things are settled, and I have my friends sort of taken care of, and we’re trying to help Kirkwall, I help Anders blow up the Chantry. I _know_-” she stops any of them from interrupting again, “I know I didn’t know what he was up to. But it still counts. And then I get everyone run out of Kirkwall, and we scatter to the winds.” she sucks in another breath. Her body _hurts._

“And then, at the end of the line…” she swallows. “I stay behind in the Fade, and leave Varric to pick up the pieces outside, and now, I get to…”

“Darling…” Leandra sounds so sad.

“Now, I get to die here, in this… terrible place.” she sighs. Tears run down her cheeks, leaving streaks in the dirt and blood marking them. “And I should be proud. I let everyone escape, Inquisitor and Alistair included. I died a hero, properly, like the story should have ended. But…” she clenches her hands, dirty fingernails digging into her palms. “But I don’t want to die here.” she laughs, raspy and weak and without humor. “What a coward I am.”

“You aren’t a coward, lambkin.” Malcolm says, once he’s certain she’s finished speaking her piece. “And you won’t die here. I swear it.”

“You know, da, I always have tried to trust in you, but I don’t know how you expect me to get out.” she closes her eyes, and doesn’t open them this time. She’s so tired. She’s never been this tired. Her side is going numb, at least, which probably isn’t a good sign, but it feels better. “Not one of you can help me, as much as I love you. Who else is left?”

_WE ARE LEFT_. says a voice, loud and commanding and sharp, and she- she knows that voice. _YOU WILL COME WITH US._

Somehow, Marian isn’t sure how, she manages to open her eyes and turn her head. 

Justice still wears Anders’ face in the Fade, although she isn’t sure if he’s here physically or just… as himself. He’s also still very blue, and glow-y, and he and Fenris really did have more in common than they ever wanted to admit. The thought makes her smile, dizzy. Her chest hurts. Breathing… is hard. 

“Hello, Justice.” she says, assuming that this is the same as her family, just another trick of this horrid green place. “Fancy a spot of tea? I’m sure mother would put some on for you.”

_WE SHOULD NOT TARRY HERE._ Justice walks closer, and crouches down, touches his hand to her chest. She feels the healing magic sliding through the chestplate, down to her skin and muscle and bone, and that- that would be hard for someone to fake, wouldn’t it? She remembers how Anders’ magic feels, made stronger by the spirit that rides along with him. She blinks rapidly as the pressure in her chest and side eases, as her lungs expand properly. 

Justice turns his head up towards the sky and calls, _WE ARE HERE._

“You don’t need to tell the demons that. They always seem to know.” Marian laughs, drunk on the marvelous feeling of having ribs that don’t creak when she moves. 

Justice says nothing, only continues to stare. Marian lifts her head to look, too, and watches as the sky parts, warps, shifts into a long rectangle of shimmering energy, and a familiar hand- small, fingers lithe and thin, wrist marked with scars- reaches down towards her. Justice picks her up from her place on the ground and her mother’s lap as easily as if she were a babe, and holds her towards the anomaly. _TAKE HOLD._ he orders.

And Hawke…. Hesitates.

_This could be a trick,_ she thinks. _Another figment of my imagination. A very, very convincing figment. A proper demon, this time..._

She turns her head towards her family, and sees that they’re all gathered together, watching her. Smiling. Malcolm nods at her, his blue eyes soft and warm, like she remembers. 

“Go on, lambkin.” he says softly. “I told you, you won’t die here. Your story isn’t finished just yet.”

Fresh tears fall. Marian smiles. “I love you.” she tells him, tells all of them, and then turns and reaches out. She takes the offered hand, and suddenly she’s being pulled up, and then _out-_


	2. Epilogue

_“Oh- oh, lethallan, it’s you, it’s you-” a spindly form is hugging her tight, too tight. She groans._

_“Easy, kitten, give her room to breathe.” soft hands gently extricate her from the enthusiastic hold, and she smells sea water and cinnamon. “How’s Anders coming around, pet?”_

_“Slowly.” she knows that voice. Has known it since the day they were born, both of them, together. “Oh, Mari, I’m so glad you’re back.”_

_“Don’t move her.” the gruff, heavy bass, tinged with a Tevinter accent. He sounds concerned. “Wait until the mage has had a chance to heal her further.”_

_“Give me a moment.” raspy, tired- always tired- but growing steadily stronger. She hears him groan. “I’m on my way. Someone hand me a lyrium potion.”_

_Calloused hands cup her cheek. They smell like wood polish and ink and fresh parchment and leather. “Hawke?” says a voice like aged whiskey. Then, softer, reverant: “Giggles? Is it really you?” Varric. Oh, Varric._

_Marian smiles, and opens her eyes._

_(And sees nothing, of course, because outside of the Fade, she is blind.)_

_The end._


End file.
